


Oh Those Summer Nights

by neworldiscoverer



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neworldiscoverer/pseuds/neworldiscoverer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Real books will always trump those eBoo-... those," he pauses and waves his hand about disambiguously, "electronic books of yours." He lifts the book from his lap. "This does not need batteries. Nor will it ever need a recharge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Those Summer Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Because I was in complete denial after Passion and this was how I coped.

The night was warm and smelled like summertime.

The air was sweet with the fragrance of freshly mown grass and slowly fermenting fruit at the base of apple trees. Mosquitoes and moths flew to the porch light, bumping against the glass until their fragile bodies crumpled and fell onto the stiff welcome mat at the front door.

The figure in the doorway is clearly female, her dark hair framing her face in soft waves. She leans against the doorframe, eyes peering into the fading light; the end of a lengthy day.

School is out and everything feels slow, as if even time is taking a break.

It won't last long, she knows. Just two weeks and classes will be back in session. The thought makes her take a deep breath and as she exhales it she hears something between a purr and meow at her feet then the feeling of a cat's tail winding around her legs.

A smile on her face, she bends down to stroke the feline and when she rises, she gently bumps him the rest of the way over the threshold with her foot and shuts the door securely.

In their kitchen, the tea kettle is whistling merrily. She briskly walks into the room and turns off the glowing burner on the stovetop. On the counter there are two ceramic cups with handles, sitting side by side. She slides them closer, preparing the tea and filling the cups.

One in each hand, she climbs the stairs, moving carefully so as to keep the hot tea from spilling. The cat, Griffin, tumbles up the stairs and she stops midway so as not to step on his furry tail as he races past her.

She hears his paws hit the floor along the hallway rug as he bounds towards the bedroom.

Looking into the room, she finds Griffin curled in the middle of the comforter, purring as loudly as possible and blinking his green eyes at her.

Her feet barely make a sound other than the loose floorboard near the foot of the bed creaking when she passes over it. The sound makes the other person in the room look up from his book.

He smiles and she remembers why she will never get tired of seeing that expression on his face. There's a little boy in that smile and it stirs and wakes the little girl she used to be. Innocence and youth. Both seem so far away now, but having him close like this keeps her from forgetting. Reminds her of hope.

Hope is a rare thing to find in a town like Sunnydale, home of The Hellmouth.

"It's hot," she cautions, handing him the cup of tea from her right hand.

He thanks her and gives her one more smile before turning back to his book. The pages are discolored, purely from age, and even though she has never met a man more careful with literature than he is, the book looks like it might fall apart if he breathes too heavily upon it.

Walking around to her side of the bed, she sets her tea on the nightstand and slides under their duvet.

The lamplight makes everything in the room take on a yellow hue. Griffin looks like a little lion. He mews in protest as she stretches her legs out, disturbing his prostrate position.

"Oh hush," she tells him lightly, sitting back against the headboard and picking up her eBook reader from where it has slid down between the pillows.

She's barely found the place where she left off when the screen pulses and the device softly beeps, indicating a low battery level.

He looks over at the sound and hears her sigh and slump back. She looks at him over the steam rising from the cup cradled in her hands, long fingers wrapped around the circumference. "Don't say it," she says, a twinkle in her eyes all the same.

One corner of his mouth quirks up. "Who me?" he feigns ignorance, "I wasn't about to say anything."

She huffs a little and nudges her knee at him. "Okay, Rupert," she allows, "You can say it. Just this once."

"It's not nearly as fun when I have your permission," he says, his eyes leaving the book as he places his finger down to mark the paragraph where he left off. "All the same... I did tell you."

He lifts his other hand and shakes his finger at her in mock reprimand. "Real books will always trump those eBoo-... those," he pauses and waves his hand about disambiguously, "electronic books of yours."

He lifts the book from his lap. "Now this... This does not need batteries. Nor will it ever need a recharge."

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and leans her head against his shoulder. "Point taken, dear. It may not need a recharge, but it looks like that edition could use a little... restoration?"

He makes a little show of being offended, though they both know better by now. "This is the only known printed text on the Lich creature and it is surely more valuable than anything your device could ever hold."

"You really think that, don't you?" She raises both of her eyebrows and he has the sense of mind to feel minor unease, like his one-upping is about to come to an abrupt end.

"I do," he confirms, watching her reach down for the cord to plug in her reader. The screen comes back on, brighter than ever, as it recognizes the power source.

"Think again, old man," she jests, swiping her finger over it and tilting it in his direction so he can see the cover.

The name matches the book in his hands.

He clears his throat twice. "Well. I, erm. ...I stand corrected."

"I love a man who admits when he's wrong," she says easily, leaning closer and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

He can feel her lips curve upwards against his skin.

"I am good at that, aren't I?" he says and she watches him place a bookmark between the pages of his book before shutting it.

"You probably shouldn't brag about that. You give yourself away," she says cheekily and shifts to face him more fully when he grasps her chin in his hand and looks like he is about to kiss her properly.

And he does.

And they do.


End file.
